


Harry Potter and the Darkest Night

by HiddenDepths



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Friendship, Post-Hogwarts, The Quidditch Pitch: Leaving Feast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-20
Updated: 2007-02-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 12:57:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10787184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenDepths/pseuds/HiddenDepths
Summary: Follow up to HBP - Takes place after Harry returns to Privet Drive for the final time. How much will Harry ask of his friends in his journey to defeat the darkness that threatens to overwhelm them all? Will he risk their lives to save countless others?





	1. Out Of Time

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

**Out Of Time**    

 

Harry Potter opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling above him. Despite the light shining in through the small window it never seemed anything more than dull grey in here, no matter what time of day it was. Sighing, he shut his eyes again and rolled over onto his side. Every summer, leaving was the same. Nothing to look forward to but an empty room, blank walls, the barest of beds. God, it depressed him.

 

He heard muttered whisperings from the general area of the floor, a hushed laugh. Then a voice, whispering but with the just slightly bossy tone that it never seemed to lose no matter what the situation.

 

“Shhhh, Ron! You’ll wake him!”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” came the grumbled reply.

 

Harry smiled to himself. Well, this year wasn’t quite the same. This year he wasn’t alone. Ron and Hermione, true to their word, had point blank refused to leave his side all through the train journey home and stuck to him like glue at the station. Ron had left it up to Ginny to let Mrs Weasley know that he wouldn’t be returning home – Harry was quite glad that he hadn’t been there to witness that. Things had been smoothed over with both of his best friend’s parents via owl when they returned to Privet Drive though (not that Hermione’s parents were aware of even half of the truth about what was going on with their daughter). Harry had to admit that even though he hadn’t been pleased to put them in danger, the company was nice. Especially in a house where he was being just as ritually ignored as always by those people he was actually related to by blood.

 

He opened his eyes a crack, peering through the sleep that had gathered there to see what his two best friends were up to. At first he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, but it soon became obvious, and his smile widened as it dawned on him what he was looking at.

 

Hermione appeared to be drawing miniscule yellow rectangles in the air with her wand, the result of which being that what looked like a massive hole had appeared in the wall between their room and dear old Dudders’ room next door. Harry recognised it as the Sartulus Charm, one that he had never quite managed to master last year. It was exceedingly difficult and used by Aurors as a method of one-way surveillance, but as usual Hermione had only needed to attempt it a few times to perform it perfectly. However, the remarkable thing was not the fact that there was a huge hole in the wall: it was what he could see through the hole that made Harry struggle not to burst out laughing.

 

The massive double bed against the back wall of the room was completely covered in alarm clocks. Big ones, small ones, digital, analog – you name it, they were there. The only part of Dudley that could be seen under the mountain of machinery was one podgy finger protruding from the side of a plastic Donald Duck face. Harry looked at Ron, who was completely concentrated once again on levitating yet another alarm clock from the floor to above the area Harry guessed must be Dudley’s left forearm. Opening his eyes wider, Harry saw that it was set to go off at 8:30. So was the one next to it. In fact – they all were. He smothered a giggle and surreptitiously sneaked a look at his watch. It was 8:28. 

 

“Right, I think that’s enough,” Hermione whispered, hesitantly. “Are you sure we should be-”

 

“ _Yes,_ ” Ron sighed, “Merlin, just think of all the times he’s tortured Harry in the last seventeen years!”

 

“Oh, all right then,” she said, defeated, “should we wake him?”

 

Ron smiled wickedly. “Oh, definitely.” Harry sat up in a hurry – he wasn’t quite sure how Ron was planning to wake him, but it didn’t sound enjoyable.

 

“No need mate,” he said, “I’m up. What’s going on?”

 

“You’ll see.” Ron grinned that evil grin again and pointed at the wall. “Any secon-”

 

It was deafening even from the next room. It was like an explosion had suddenly gone off, sending Dudley flying about three feet in the air. He landed with a thud on top of the largest metal clock there, letting out a scream that was barely audible over the racket. Eyes crossed, he blinked several times before collapsing face down on the carpet in front of him with a crash. Tears of laughter pouring down his face, Ron vanished the clocks he had conjured up only moments before and Hermione moved her wand in a slashing movement to the right, closing up the hole in the wall.

 

Harry’s shoulders were shaking with laughter, and he simply couldn’t control himself any more – he rolled about on the bed howling, replaying the glorious sight of a stunned Dudley thudding to the ground in his head over and over. He looked up and saw Ron looking at him.

 

“Happy Birthday, mate,” he said, grinning. “And for Merlin’s sake put some clothes on!”

 

Harry looked down, gave a yelp and blushing furiously yanked the covers up to his chin.

 

*

 

The three of them kept spontaneously bursting into laughter as they walked down the stairs to breakfast. The sight of Harry’s Aunt Petunia frantically slapping Dudley across the face as he lay on the hall floor, muttering about how it was time to get up now, hadn’t really helped on that front. Thanks to Hermione’s well-placed silencing charm earlier in the morning, neither of Dudley’s parents had the slightest idea what was wrong with him, but found the fact that their only son was now patting himself on the head and dribbling rather worrying. Still chortling, Harry stumbled down the rest of the stairs and into the kitchen.

 

Vernon Dursley was sitting at the kitchen table, looking extremely pleased with himself. Harry did not like the look on his face one bit. He felt Ron and Hermione slam into his back where he had frozen to the spot, and he could feel that they were watching his uncle as he rose to his feet, pulling himself up to his full height and looking down at Harry.

 

“Well, well, well,” he said, “Happy Birthday.” Harry stared at him.

 

“Huh?” he stuttered, completely baffled by this abnormal event – in the whole time since Harry had come back to Privet Drive, he doubted if his uncle Vernon had even said three words to him, and that had been in reply to something he had been asked. Now here he was, actually voluntarily offering Harry _congratulations_? Something didn’t add up. 

 

“It is your birthday, is it not?” 

 

“Em, yes, I suppose,” he replied, wondering where this was going. He shot a questioning look at Ron, who appeared as baffled as he felt. Hermione also offered no comfort, simply shrugging when he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

 

“Well then,” his uncle stated, “don’t people normally receive gifts on their birthday?”

 

Harry’s head snapped back to attention and he stared his uncle in the eye, knowing now that something was afoot. “What are you saying?” He felt uneasy, and there was a leaden feeling in the pit of his stomach that refused to go away.

 

“That your aunt and I have decided to honour your birthday by presenting you with something we believe you’ll find _extremely_ interesting. Here you go.” And he held out an envelope towards Harry, smiling in that strange way that Harry hadn’t seen before. In shock, he took the envelope from the large, outstretched hand in front of him, and to his surprise his uncle permitted him to take it. “You might want to sit down.”

 

Harry sat, feeling confused and not even close to laughing now. He opened the envelope, thinking back to a time six years ago when he had tried to do much the same thing in this very room…

 

 

_‘I want to read that letter,’ Dudley said loudly._ _‘_

I _want to read it,’ said Harry furiously, ‘as it’s_ mine _.’_

_‘Get out, both of you,’ croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope._

_Harry didn’t move._

_‘I WANT MY LETTER!’ he shouted._

_‘Let_ me _see it!’ demanded Dudley._

_‘OUT!’ roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Harry and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them._

 

It seemed so long ago now that he hadn’t known about Hogwarts. Hadn’t known about magic. Hadn’t known about _anything_ really – nothing about Voldemort or Horcruxes or prophecies or death. He wondered if things would have turned out the same in the end, if his aunt and uncle had been successful in preventing him from entering into the wizarding world. Would Voldemort still have come after him? Probably. He would never really know.

 

A cough from behind him drew him out of his reverie, and he looked up to see his uncle still looking down at him, the smile starting to look a little strained.

 

“Well,” he said through gritted teeth, “aren’t you going to read the blasted thing?”

 

Leaving his thoughts of the distant past to lie dormant in his mind for the moment, Harry focused his attention back on the envelope in front of him. He wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know what it contained – if it made his uncle this happy then it was definitely something that he was not going to enjoy reading. However curiosity got the better of him, and after a few seconds he pulled out a piece of parchment and unfolded it- and stared at the page in front of him in shock. He _knew_ that writing, but it couldn’t be… 

 

_Petunia,_

_I thank you for your last correspondence to me – I won’t say I wasn’t surprised that you deemed to reply, but I am exceedingly glad you did. I think it helps us to know where we stand on these matters._

_In answer to your questions, you will not need any particular requirements to look after Harry – he will grow up just like a normal child, apart from perhaps a few incidents if he gets extremely upset or angry._

_He will attend Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft And Wizardry when he is eleven years old. He will receive a letter some time before term starts. Any attempt to stop Harry going to school will be unsuccessful: I have proved myself adept in the past at making sure each and every student on the roll appears at Hogwarts on 1st September._

_You are at no extra risk from having him in your home, in fact quite the opposite – the protective wards I have applied to him apply to your entire household. You can rest assured that the horrible tragedy that occurred at Godric’s Hollow cannot and will not happen at Privet Drive. You have my word on that, and I do not give my word lightly._

_These protective wards will be active until Harry comes of age in our world – that is, when he turns seventeen. Up until that point, there is only one thing that can break the protective spells surrounding your house. In the event of my death, the spells are still impenetrable. After Harry comes of age, there will be no particular reason for him to stay with you any longer if he decides to leave or you do not wish him to live with you any more._

_I will warn you that you have now committed to look after Harry until these spells are deactivated. If you forcibly remove or eject him from your house before this time, not only are you possibly putting him in great danger but also yourselves. This is the one thing that will break the spells, and such a huge magical ripple will no doubt be detected by anyone looking for Harry at that particular time, attracting attention that could prove very dangerous for you and your family._

_Please heed my advice and don’t hesitate to contact me again – I feel however that this may be our last contact for a long time._

_Goodbye and good luck,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Harry looked up, fighting against the lump in his throat. It was too cruel. He still couldn’t think of Dumbledore without feeling guilty, and to see this, hearing Dumbledore’s voice in his head, seeing him writing the letter before his eyes, was just too much. He met his uncle’s eyes and noticed that the smile had returned with a vengeance, although this time any fake warmth had been eradicated.

 

“Get out,” he smirked. 

 

“What?” Harry couldn’t force his mind to concentrate on anything but his own personal grief, and he couldn’t quite understand what was going on.

 

“You heard me,” Vernon replied, “get out. Get out of my house!”

 

“What?” Harry repeated, still not really comprehending what was going on. His Uncle Vernon looked as if his beady little eyes were about to pop out of his head, and his face hadn’t been this shade of tomato-red for quite some time. He was livid.

 

“We’re done with you, we don’t need you any more,” his uncle raged, “we can finally get on with our own lives, now GET OUT!” Breathing heavily, he steeled himself to move forward and grab Harry by the collar, and Harry couldn’t bring himself to try and get out of the way. He didn’t care any more.

 

“Oh, I don’t think so,” came Ron’s voice from behind Harry, stepping out in front of him with his wand already raised. “You lay one hand on him and I’ll hex you to next March.” 

 

Harry felt Hermione tug on his sleeve, and he turned in a daze to look at her. “Come on, Harry,” she said gently, “we should leave.”

 

“Okay,” Harry heard himself say, and he let himself be led towards the door and out of the house in which he had lived most of his life for the last time, still clutching the letter in his hand. He heard raised voices from the room he had just left, and a yell that was cut short suddenly and unnaturally. Despite all the emotions raging within him, Harry felt himself grin weakly. He hoped Ron had got him good.

 

“Can you Apparate to the Burrow, Harry? Do you think you can manage it?” Hermione’s worried voice finally got through to him and he looked up. “I mean, I know you and Ron just got your licenses the other week so we could try some other way. If you want.”

 

“There is no other way Hermione,” he muttered, knowing it was true, “I’ll manage.” A sudden thought broke through the fog that seemed to have taken over his brain. “But, our stuff-”

 

“Dad can send some people round to get it,” Ron said as he emerged from the front door, brushing down his robes to remove what looked suspiciously like feathers. “Just don’t panic. Breathe deep, and concentrate. I’ll go first in case something goes wrong, then you, then Hermione.”

 

“But-”

 

“Just be calm, I’ll see you in a minute.” He pulled out his wand and with a pop he had disappeared.  

 

“Are you going to be all right, Harry?” Hermione asked again, shooting him yet another worried glance as he swayed on the spot. She made as if to move towards him.

 

A crash sounded out from the open front door of 4 Privet Drive, and Harry heard his Aunt Petunia’s shrill shriek as she presumably encountered her husband sprawled across the stairs with what looked like a crowd of tiny yellow canaries attacking his unconscious form. He knew they didn’t have time to delay.

 

“I’ll have to be,” he said firmly. “Don’t wait – we’ll go together.” Hermione nodded, and her anxious face was the last thing he saw before closing his eyes tight.

 

Harry steeled himself, concentrating intensely on where he wanted to be. ‘The Burrow, The Burrow, The Burrow’ he thought, ignoring the pain in his clenched fist and focusing like he never had before. He felt himself being squeezed from all sides yet again, unable to breathe, feeling like he did every time that this was definitely worse than Floo Powder. He vaguely heard his aunt’s scream of rage as she tried to grab him and was left instead clutching thin air before everything rushed away from him in a torrent of noise and pressure. With a pop he found himself standing in the middle of the kitchen at the Burrow, staring straight at the red-haired girl sitting in front of him.

 

Harry swallowed, having known that this moment would come but hopelessly unprepared for the feelings that suddenly swamped him. He looked around for Hermione, needing other people to be here, because he couldn’t cope with this on his own. He felt sick. This really wasn’t a good time.

 

“Hello, Ginny.”

 


	2. Reunion

  
Author's notes: Big thanks to my beta Taja - helped me through step by step and showed me the ropes :)  


* * *

** Reunion **

"Hi, Harry. How have you been?"

Ginny was sitting upright in the chair unnaturally, and Harry forced himself to look her in the eyes. She seemed distant, and though her tone was warm there was no feeling behind the words. There was only one conclusion - she wasn’t interested in him any more. Well what had he honestly been expecting? He fought against the heat rising to his face and fought to think of a neutral answer.

“All right. And you?”

 

“Fine.” 

 

Silence. 

 

This was useless. What use was talking if there was nothing real going to be said? Harry steeled himself and opened his mouth.

 

“Ginny, I-”

 

He was silenced by a scuffle on the stairs, and he felt his heart sink into his shoes as Ginny jumped to her feet, looking glad for the interruption. They really needed to talk this through. Together.

 

“Well really dear, I just don’t see why you would end up there!” Mrs Weasley’s voice echoed round the tiny kitchen as she bustled towards them from the stairway, followed by an extremely red-faced Hermione. 

 

“Well,” Hermione was saying, “I _was_ Apparating under stressful conditions, to be fair.”

 

“Harry seemed to manage fine,” Mrs Weasley commented. “And he has more reason than you to suddenly appear in Ron’s room – after all, he has slept there.” Harry looked up, shocked.

 

 

“You Apparated into _Ron’s_ room?” Ginny burst out, shooting her friend an amused look. If it was possible, Hermione went an even brighter shade of red. “How?”

 

“I don’t _know_!” she wailed. “I’m usually so good at it! I just concentrated on The Burrow and where I wanted to be and suddenly I was surrounded by orange walls and a pile of month old socks!” 

 

Fighting the urge to laugh, Harry decided to throw her a lifeline. “Have you told Mrs Weasley about the letter yet, Hermione?”

 

“Oh, yes, the letter,” Hermione stuttered, giving Harry a grateful look. “Well I hadn’t really got round to that yet. I was waiting until we were all together.”

 

“What letter?” Mrs Weasley’s curiosity was peaked and all thought of what Hermione was doing in her son’s room had disappeared from her head. Which was exactly what Harry had known would happen. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Maybe we should wait for Ron,” he said. Actually, come to think of it-

 

“Where is Ronald, anyway?”

 

“He went out for a quick walk.” Ginny tore her curious gaze from Hermione’s red face to answer her mother. “He looked kind of annoyed. Muttering about stupid muggles threatening his friends, something like that.” Harry groaned inwardly as Mrs Weasley’s eyebrows shot up past her hairline at these words.

 

“ _Who_ threatened you, Harry?” she said, pulling herself up to her full height. Which, incidentally, was about up to Harry’s shoulder.

 

“It was them, mum.” The sound of Ron’s voice was followed by the slamming of the front door. They all turned as he walked into the room, the tips of his ears glowing red. “The Dursleys.”

 

Molly Weasley narrowed her eyes, glaring round the kitchen. “And _why_ am I only just hearing about this now?” 

“Well I think you were slightly preoccupied by Hermione’s sudden appearance in Ron’s room,” muttered Ginny. 

 

“What!” Ron blanched, looking horrified. “But, how-”

 

“Never mind that now,” Mrs Weasley cut in, the impatient wave of her arm indicating the subject was closed. At least for now. “I’m assuming that’s why you’re here so early?” All eyes fell on Harry. He sighed, realising he was going to have to try to explain. 

 

“Well, you see Mrs Weasley, Dumbledore – _Professor_ Dumbledore – wrote a letter to my Aunt Petunia just after they had taken me in. Apparently the Dursleys knew that all protective wards on the house would no longer be active from the day of my 17th birthday. So, they, uh, threw me out.”

 

The sight of an angry Weasley was always awesome to behold, but Harry had to admit that Molly could give any one of her sons a run for their money when it came to sheer, concentrated rage. In fact, the closest competitor Harry had ever seen was Ginny, and even _she_ didn’t seem to be quite as fiery or passionate as her mother when she was as livid as this. As Harry watched her eyes narrowed and she appeared to be spitting flame as she exclaimed “They did **what**?”

 

“Um, they threw me out,” said Harry, and flinched as his words provoked a torrent of abuse.

 

“Those filthy, no-good- Dumbledore _trusted_ them! How could they! How could they just throw you out on the street when they _know_ how dangerous it is right now and they know fine well that all they had to do was get in touch and it would all be arranged to get you here safely! I knew it, I knew they couldn’t-” She stopped suddenly and Harry took a step backwards as she turned towards him. “Where are your things, Harry?” she said icily.

 

“Well, eh,” Harry stuttered, “I didn’t really have time to get anything.”

 

Mrs Weasley stared at him, open-mouthed. “Your wand?” 

 

Harry felt like someone had just kicked him in the stomach. He hadn’t even noticed up until that very moment that his wand was not in its familiar place in his back pocket. Trust him to listen to Moody the one day when he needed his wand on him! He swallowed nervously – this news was not going to go down well.

 

“I don’t have it. It was upstairs, I didn’t get a chance to-”

 

“I don’t believe this!” roared Mrs Weasley, “Oh just wait till I tell Arthur, I’ve been saying this all along, but all I got was ‘Oh no, Molly dear, we must leave him with the muggles, it’s where he’s safe’ and now look what’s happened! Honestly, I think I’m the only sane one in this family!” Grabbing the flowerpot from the fireplace, she threw a handful of Floo Powder into the flames, stepped forward as they had barely turned green, shouted “The Ministry of Magic!” and promptly disappeared.

 

There was silence in the kitchen once again. Harry stood aghast, gazing at the spot on the floor where Mrs Weasley had just been standing. He heard Ginny exhaling loudly behind him.

 

“Well,” she said calmly, “That could have gone a lot worse.” 

 

Harry choked back a laugh, not sure whether it was all right to or not. He looked over at Ron for confirmation of the seriousness of the moment, but found his best friend was staring in the complete opposite direction. At Hermione. He seemed to be struggling with himself, as if not sure whether to say something.

 

“You Apparated into my bedroom?” he burst out suddenly.

 

Seeing Hermione bristle instantly, Harry knew that once again his friend would have done better to keep his mouth shut.

 

 

*

 

 

Pad.

 

Pad.

 

_Creak._

 

Harry winced as the stair under his foot complained of his weight, and it felt to him like it was loud enough to wake the whole house. He paused, holding his breath, but there wasn’t a sound from the direction he had just come. Breathing a silent sigh of relief he continued to tip-toe down the rest of the stairs and reached the kitchen without a hitch. He had just flipped the light switch and was heading towards the cupboard where he knew Mrs Weasley kept the cocoa powder when he heard a noise from behind him. 

 

He spun, feeling naked without his wand. There was no-one there, but he felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise: something wasn’t right. Slowly he turned back around, still feeling slightly uneasy, and headed for the fridge to fetch the milk.

 

“If you don’t mind me asking, how are you planning on heating that without a wand?”

 

Harry whipped back around, and was faced with a most unusual sight. Ginny Weasley’s head was hovering about 3 feet above one of the kitchen chairs. It was almost as if-

 

“Hey!” he said accusingly, “That’s my invisibility cloak!” Ginny rolled her eyes, removing the cloak from around her shoulders and revealing the rest of her sitting in the chair.

 

“Ten points for observation, Harry,” she said drily.

 

“Where did you get it?” 

 

She gestured towards the boxes sitting on the table. Harry hadn’t really paid attention to them when he came in, but now he moved over and sifted through the contents. It was everything he owned – everything he had accumulated in the seventeen years he had been alive. There wasn’t much, but he was pretty sure all was present and correct. Apart from- he started pulling frantically at clothes, shoving them aside in the hope that maybe it was just buried somewhere underneath.

 

“Looking for this?” said Ginny from behind him, and he could hear the laughter in her voice. 

 

“As a matter of fact, I was,” he said through gritted teeth as he turned to face her. “Can I have it back?” 

 

“Now, now Harry,” she said teasingly. “Where are your manners?”

 

“Ginny, this isn’t funny. Give it to me – I might need it.” He held out his hand, and Ginny looked at him.

 

“All right,” she said, and her smile faded as she placed his wand in his palm, taking great care not to touch him. Instantly Harry regretted being so sharp with her – for a moment it had almost been like old times. 

 

He sighed and walked back over to the cupboards to get himself a mug, choosing one with black and white stripes, and filled it three-quarters full. Setting it down, he pointed his wand at it and muttered _“Fervefacio,"_ adding roughly two spoons of chocolate powder with a flick of his wrist. He pulled out the chair across from Ginny and sat down.

 

“That was always Ron’s mug,” she said suddenly, breaking the silence. “Of all the toys people ever gave him on Christmases and Birthdays when he was little, the only thing he would ever play with was that mug. He’d just sit and spin it round in his hands, fascinated.”

 

“Really?” Harry was surprised at this. “But it’s so-” He thought for a minute, before realising what it was. “It’s not orange!”

 

Ginny laughed, and Harry felt as if everything was back where it should be in the world. “I know! He’ll never admit it now though – he stopped using it as soon as Fred and George started teasing him and asking when the next Puddlemere United match was. He went mental, threw the mug on the floor and went out the very next day to buy a Cannons one. Mum repaired it though, as she said it was too precious to lose.”

 

Harry smiled at the thought of a much younger Ron having a temper tantrum, and was reminded forcibly of the tantrum he’d thrown earlier in the evening. Both were to do with something he held very close to his heart – he just hadn’t admitted one of them to himself yet. He looked up and saw Ginny looking at him, knowing she was thinking the same thing, and then she turned her face away from him. He'd been wrong – things could never go back to the way they had been. Crushed, Harry pushed his chair back and stood up.

 

“No,” Ginny said, her voice slightly shaky. “I’m sorry. Don’t go.” 

 

Unsure, Harry hovered in midair. 

 

Ginny looked up at him, and it was though she had suddenly lost four years and become the little girl he had rescued from the floor of the Chamber of Secrets. 

 

He sat down, and she smiled weakly. “So… you got thrown out? That must be rough, eh?”

 

“Not really,” Harry said thoughtfully, knowing she had meant it simply as a joke but answering seriously anyway. “I mean, I always knew I was going to leave some time after I turned seventeen. I just didn’t think it would be so… abrupt.”

 

“You’re not angry with them?”

 

“How can I be? They’re just doing what they do best – looking after number one. They think they’ll be in danger if I’m there, so they got rid of me. That and they hated my guts, so really they were just killing two birds with one stone.” Harry smiled, and finally voiced what he’d been thinking all day. “And it solves a mystery I’ve been wondering about for a while.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“The night the Dementors attacked me and my cousin and Vernon tried to get me to leave. Someone sent a letter to my Aunt Petunia in the nick of time, telling her to ‘Remember their last.’ I always wondered – I thought it was Dumbledore, and now I’m sure of it.” 

 

Ginny looked at him quizzically. “How do you know that?” she asked.

 

“He was reminding her that in his last letter – _this_ letter,” said Harry, holding it out to her. “He told her the conditions that affected the wards on the house and me. If she threw me out that day, their house could have been attacked at any time – Dumbledore was just making sure she hadn’t forgotten this. If there were still Dementors out there, he saved my life.”

 

"That actually makes quite a lot of sense,” said Ginny.

 

“Don’t sound so surprised!” Harry said in mock outrage. “I usually make sense. Some of the time.”

 

Ginny laughed, her eyes twinkling. “Yeah, right.” She made a playful swipe at him across the table, and their hands touched. Harry flinched, and they both withdrew their arms as if they had been burned. Silence reigned again, and Harry couldn’t stand it. He needed to say something, to get this off his chest.

 

“Ginny, I-” She put up her hand to stop him.

 

“Don’t,” she said gently. “Please don’t. I don’t want to hear it.”

 

“But Gin we _have_ to talk about this,” he said exasperatedly, “I can’t cope with feeling like this-”

 

“ _You_ can’t cope!” Ginny suddenly snapped, as if everything she had been holding in all day had finally overwhelmed her. “ _You_ can’t cope!” Harry drew back on reflex, which only seemed to make her more angry. “Try being _me,_ Harry! Try sitting in your room every single day knowing that the one person you’ve ever given your heart to willingly is the one that broke it, and you can’t even blame him because then you’re just being selfish! Try knowing that for you to be happy, the entire Wizarding World has to suffer! Try wondering what it is about you that means you can’t ever be content, you can’t ever get close to anyone, because they’re not _him_ , and they’re not ever going to live up to what _he_ did for you, to you. You have it easy, Harry!”

 

“What?” Harry exploded. He hadn’t meant to lose his temper, but he couldn’t help it. “You think it’s easy for me? You think I _wanted_ to walk away from you? You were the best thing that ever happened to me!”

 

Ginny flinched, disbelief etched across her face. “I _was_?” 

 

Harry realised his mistake instantly. “I mean, you _are_ the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Gin.” He summoned all his courage in order to say finally what he really felt. “I… I still lo- feel the same about you.” 

 

The depth of the pain in Ginny’s face made Harry want to kick himself. Why couldn’t he just say it? It wasn’t as if it was difficult. It was three words that would have made the world of difference, but he just couldn’t do it.

 

“Just promise me one thing, Harry,” Ginny said finally.

 

“Anything,” said Harry, and he knew he meant it. He would give her the world.

 

“If there is ever a need for me in this war, if there is ever something that you need _me_ for, don’t let whatever it is you feel get in the way. Just like I don’t let how I feel about you interfere with what _you_ need to do.” Harry panicked. 

 

_How could he promise her that?_

 

“But, I-”

 

“Promise me,” she repeated, and her voice was like steel. Harry knew that just as there was no way he could agree, there was no way he could refuse.

 

“All right, I promise,” he said, defeated.

 

“Fine.” She stood up and walked towards the stairs. Pausing at the foot, she turned back towards him. “Happy Birthday, Harry.”

 

He watched as she disappeared from sight, and then stood himself. It was as he was walking over to the sink to clean out his mug that it occurred to him to check his watch. It was quarter past twelve – it wasn’t his birthday any more.

“That means we’ll have bad luck, Gin,” he whispered to the empty kitchen, knowing in his heart that he’d already had all the bad luck he could deal with.

 

 


End file.
